Standing among several forks in the road.
Feet frozen with whispers of direction.
My throat is tight lipped,
mind walking a strained rope of indecision.
There is no wrong direction.
No wrong answer.
No stupid question.
Statements meant to ease tension cause my cells to freeze with anticipation of trickery.
My skin tenses as I beg these feet to reconnect with gut instinct.
Wishing and willing the quiet to bring anything but this cacophony of hesitation.
A plethora of choices before me are subject to distortion.
Once an exciting prospect has turned debilitating.
My wide eyes fall into the cracks of the possibilities before me.
Breath swallowed whole, I will this decision to be as enticed by the abyss as my panic is.
Mental Ground 